If Only
by legheads-lament
Summary: Mad Queen. Set during Hat Trick. "Part of you hates her. That she'd dare come here, to your home, your home with Grace, looking like this and smelling that way. That she'd press your buttons and have you in the palm of her hand all over again. But for very different reasons. Because she hates you a little bit too."


Title: If Only  
Author: Nikayla  
Genre: Romance/Drama/ish/idek  
Pairing: Regina/Jefferson, Mad Queen  
Set During: Hat Trick  
Rating: PG-13/TV-14  
Author's Notes: This is a, 'Jefferson stuck and going mad in Wonderland, thinking back on his last encounter with Regina before they jumped through the hat and everything went upended' fic. It's told from his mind, when it was at what was possibly its most fractured state, so there are current thoughts leaking into past thoughts, and vice versa. Just a lot of, well, _madness_. I hope you enjoy it!

Mad Queen. Set during Hat Trick. Started out as something very different than it ended up. But I think the outcome actually works with the real circumstances of the episode better so there you have it :)

* * *

You think you are one thing, but know you are another. You think you deserve something, but know you haven't done a single thing to earn it. You are one, but really you are two. And it's all mashed inside a head too daft to piece it all together into a puzzle that makes a single fleck of sense. Whatever did you do to deserve this?

That's simple really.

You left her.

* * *

_All is fair in love they said. Too bad you didn't hear the part about war._

Hours. Tick by. Days. Fly by. You are stuck. An animal. In a tar pit. In quicksand. In, well, it doesn't really matter does it. You are stuck and that is the beginning and the end of it. Of all of it. Of everything.

She did this.

They did this.

You did this. _You,_ did this. And you did that too.

If you can just, make a hat._The_ hat. Not just a hat it has to be _the_ hat but you see the problem with that is that_the_ hat is there and you are here and there's no making of _the_ hat when it's already made and so frustratinglyfuriouslynot_here_.

And neither is she.

But. She is. In her way. In _your_ way, the way you remember at least. She's in your mind, where, all that you have left is really. No material object, no anything to reach out and touch, no, just memories of things you once could touch and somehow, somehowsomehowsomehow the littlest flicker of hope that someday, someday you can and will touch it again. Your hat. Grace's small and welcoming hand. These are the things you think about. These, and, _her_, sometimes. Toomuchallthetimestopitjefferson, MAKE THE HAT.

That day, that hour replays in your head, more often than you have control over. There are the faintest of differences in these memories sometimes, but they all, lead here. All roads lead here. All roads lead.

Maybe just, one more time, and you will solve it. Maybe. This time you will spot the flaw before it is your, kindest undoing. Maybe, you will see it.

If only.

* * *

You see her carriage, and the feeling in your gut is like nothing you've felt in a decade. Suddenly all the memories pour in, drowning you from the inside. You send Grace away, you don't want her within a mile of this place. As you walk up to the door you have no idea why she's come, or what state you'll find her in. There was a point when you wondered if you'd see her again, what would happen if you did. Whatever you imagined, it certainly didn't have you ending up like this. Thin as a dime. Making hats. Hat after hat. Making hats until your fingers bleed. Until you wish the rest of you was doing the bleeding. But it's not about now it's about then. _Focus_.

Sometimes it's all a blur. Other times your mind can call forth every blink, and every breath. You're not sure which is worse. The full thousand pound memory of it all; of every second wasted, every halfhearted touch, every moment not spent fixing her, when you still had the chance. Or the haze of everything; blended together like a painting left out in the rain. Details barely able to be made out, just a wash of the colors used to illustrate her downfall. Black. And red. Smoke, and blood, and a killing fire. Setting everything ablaze at your departure.

When you kiss her, it isn't like it used to be. No sweet caresses, no slow burning flame. It's an instantly ignited forest fire, burning everything in sight. Scalding breath and raking nails. Scraping teeth and ripping fabric. Stripping you to the bone. Part of you hates her. That she'd dare come here, to your home, your home with Grace, looking like this and smelling that way. That she'd press your buttons and have you in the palm of her hand all over again. But for very different reasons. Because she hates you a little bit too. It really wasn't that long ago that you were two completely different people. Well, maybe not so different. Certainly you've tamed, she however, has turned from a flower to a thorn to a suffocating vine, entwining her way through everything you've built to keep clear from her, and splitting it from the inside out. You used to mean something to each other. Maybe you still do. But not like before. She used to confide in you. You used to do almost anything to be near her. You're not quite sure how that changed.

You're getting ahead of yourself again. It didn't start like this. You wanted nothing to do with her remember? You enter with every intention of sending her straight off. You don't want to hear it. Because if you hear it you know it will change things. And you can't afford to change again. You've lost much. And you know she's been in your shoes far too many times. For the both of you, you can't let it change again.

But she speaks. And the first stone falls quicker than you expected. There's an angry pit in your stomach. At her audacity to invite herself in. At her audacity to touch Grace's things. But she's a Queen, and Queens will be audacious won't they? If this were 10 years ago you'd be right there with her. A cocky grin and a cocky grip. But she wasn't quite so commanding then. It seems neither of you were ever ready at the same time. Time. You have more than you could ever want of it now. If only you'd realized how limited it was then.

She wants you for one last task, and in that moment you decide you want her for vastly different reasons.

You back her into the nearest wall, the wind knocking out of her lungs at your forcefulness and a wicked smile plays across her once innocent features. Her eyes are like swirling pools, growing hazy with lust. She lets out a laugh, "is this the price you wish for your services now?" The snake bites before anything or anyone could have a chance of backing it into a corner. She dares a glance downward, her eyes flashing to your lips and back up in a fraction of a second. You see it of course, and take it as permission or perhaps even a request to crash your lips against her own without another thought. She returns it with just as much force, all teeth and want and daring you to take it farther. Your grip on her arms is almost painful. Fingers clenching into her. You're supposed to hate her, you do hate her, but it's been so long and you are angry at her. Look what she's become. Her eyes are darker than they used to be. Her voice has dropped an octave and is laced with all her ill-intent. Why did she let herself turn out this way? Did she really have no choice in the matter?

Pulling away from her your lips drop to her pulse point, feeling it throb just under her skin. Your hands move from her arms to hold at her waist, trailing upwards, your grip still just as strong. You feel her shift a bit, not relenting her hold over her reactions, not giving in to you. Not yet. Your lips move lower, and your hands traipse higher, gripping her through her dress, her chest heaving as you kiss your way down her front. You lift her up with your hands under her thighs, slamming her back into the wood again, intending to make this anything but the tender encounters you had all those years ago. Her arms reach up above her now, gripping the wall behind her, fingernails clawing to gain back some of her self-control. But just as quickly she relinquishes it and drops them down, one hand curling into your hair and the other bracing behind your neck as you trail haphazard kisses back up her chest until you find her lips again. You find her mouth much more inviting this time, lips dropped open and swelling from how thoroughly you've kissed her. Your teeth catch her bottom lip, the pressure just hard enough to finally elicit a sound from her, an uncontrolled whimper that you then muffle with a full contact kiss, stealing her voice, her breath right out of her. Her legs move to wrap around your waist, anchoring her, as her hands remove your scarf and start on the buttons of your shirt. Your hands move to her neck, ripping the feathered collar right off her dress and tossing it to the ground. With better access now your lips fall to the crook of her neck, leaving a bruising trail of kisses and bites across her skin.

Your lips can't seem to decide where to lay their attention for any longer than a few moments. They move back up her neck, over her jaw to meld with hers again and your hands drag lazily down and then back up her sides, settling into her hair to hold her in place as you kiss her. Finally her words dawn on you, and you throw together a hasty reply. Pulling away from her just enough to speak, but still close enough that your lips brush every other word, effectively keeping her right where you want her. "It was never my price Regina, I seem to recall that this," your eyes gesture to her and your current positioning, "was more often my right than reward." A smile springs to your lips, the cockiness may have left your everyday demeanor but it is still wielded easily and efficiently when needed. To prove your point your right hand claps against the stiff fabric on her stomach, trailing upwards and between her breasts, tracing an invisible line of possession you laid on her those years ago. "In fact, dear Queen, I believe the last favor I did wasn't met with quite the response I deserved." You're referring of course, to the favor you did in telling her, even before you told Grace's mother herself, that you loved her and wanted to make a life with her. All at once you are angry again, that she pushed you away, wouldn't even let you both have one last, whatever it was, before you left. She overreacted and ruined it and somehow you still don't know why.

You push off from the wall and drop her down onto your bed with your weight pushing into her. She tries to gain control, tries roll over you but you push back, feet moving to the floor by the bed and yanking her to the edge of it so you're standing between her legs. A small, sharp gasp escapes her at how unceremonious your attitude has become. Your hands dart under her dress and suddenly she's allowed a flicker of emotion into her eyes. "Don't", it bares the faintest hint of hurt in her tone, but you try to ignore it, trailing your hands higher up her legs. "Jefferson, stop it", she halts your hands' ascent. "I didn't come here for this", she sits up and holds your wrists, trying to push you away but you latch right onto hers. "Why _did_ you come?", the venom in your voice is noticeable. "I told you why", her eyes betray the detached demeanor she's trying to put on. "_Why did you come_?", it's a bit more sincere now, your eyes bore into hers but the expression has begun to soften. Her lips purse together as she tries to harden her gaze, her eyes dropping an inch, not wanting to look at you. You let go of her wrists and your hands move to hold her head in place, lips connecting in a soberingly tender kiss. She pulls back from it like you burned her, brows furrowing from the emotion you let slip through in your touch. You can guess how little she has felt since your last encounter. When you told her you had found someone, someone you grew to love, and you wanted to be with her, everything after happened in such a whirlwind. Every piece of glass in the room shattered at once, her eyes instantly lost the glint they always held when she looked at you. "Get out", those words spoken with so much rage, the polar opposite of what her tear-stained face, and empty, aching eyes conveyed to you. What you thought they conveyed. If you knew then, what would happen, maybe… You knew she wouldn't be happy, you knew you meant _something_ to each other, but not enough to warrant this reaction. Right? You hadn't expected her to be so, so…..

Her eyes always did betray her true feelings to you. Try as she might somehow you had a way of chipping her armor just enough to see her emotions laid out so plainly in a mere flick of her gaze. That's why it makes no sense now, that what you thought she felt that day, was so off course as to have been the catalyst for everything happening now, without you having the faintest idea of why. You move in again, the tenderness suddenly increasing tenfold, and feel her lips tremble beneath you. You have no idea what her life has been like since that day, if anyone has touched her, _loved her_, like you did. And you did. Love her. As close to love as you could get at the time. You wonder if anyone has been there to wipe away her tears, to hold her through a night of endless and frightful nightmares, that plagued her so frequently at the same time every year. You wonder but in your heart you know the answer is no. You were the last best chance she had. The one thing that maybe, maybe could have prevented her reign from growing so wicked. And you left.

You look back now and you get it. You almost don't blame her. If only you'd seen it then. If only you hadn't limited your care for her. Too often it was so sporadic, only when she was broken before you did it make its way to your heart. When _you_ did the hurting, you were all but completely blind to it. Blameless in every way. Only comforting when it was about how others did the hurting. Not you. If you just could have seen it.

For a moment she lets you kiss her, lets you atone for what you did. She kisses you back, heightening the intensity as if the second she stops you'll be gone. It only lasts for a minute, this sudden need and vulnerability. If she shows it any longer she won't be able to stop. You relinquish her lips only when your lungs are fighting for air and you move to reconnect them just as quickly, but it's already done. Her hands shoot to your shoulders, bracing; stopping you. Her expression changes so quickly. Her whole demeanor really. _Sound familiar_? "Regina," it's an almost teasingly sweet tone, and you move forward again. Her hand comes off your shoulder and a sudden gust of air propels you backward, just far enough to have you land on your feet as she rises up off the bed, her mask of indifference firmly back in place. "That's enough Jefferson," suddenly emotionless eyes catch your still stunned ones. "Consider my offer, you know where to find me if you change your mind." It takes a second before you even recall the offer to which she is referring. She falls back in step far easier than you. You really do have the worst timing. You could be worthy of her now, but it's for naught. She's not the same girl anymore. You wonder how much of that is your fault.

You know how much of that is your fault.

As she makes her way to the door your decision is all but made for you. Exiting your cabin her line of sight finds yours one last time, and then it is made for you. Maybe if you do this, things could change. Go back to how they were, no, of course not. But they could change for the better in some other way. Maybe doing this will win you back a morsel of her trust. And then you'd have something to work with. Wonderland. Perhaps this time the outcome will be more in your favor. Perhaps this time that wretched place will give back something you lost too.

_If only you had seen it_.


End file.
